Chasing Christmas Eve

by Jill Shalvis

  better than your first time,” he promised.

  “How do you know?”

  He finished stripping and she stopped breathing as she watched. He grabbed something from a drawer. A condom. Good. At least one of them was thinking. She reached for him, pulling him down over top of her, wrapping her legs around his hips.

  “Not yet,” he said. “You’re not ready—”

  She reached down and guided him home. He said her name in protest, in pleasure, in surprise . . . She understood that last one because nothing surprised her more than the feel of him taking over, filling her to the hilt, and moving inside her so exquisitely that she came almost instantly.

  “Not any good at this, huh?” she managed when she found her tongue.

  Spence buried his face in her throat and both laughed and groaned. “Christ, Colbie.” His voice was guttural and strained. “You feel so good. So fucking good that I don’t want to ever stop.”

  “Then don’t.” She matched him thrust for thrust as they moved together, and she knew the truth, that it was him that felt so good because she didn’t want to ever stop either.

  “Colbie.”

  She managed to look at him as he took her hands in his, entwining their fingers on either side of her head, pressing her into the mattress as he moved inside her, taking her places she’d never been. His eyes held hers prisoner, watching, coaxing, his voice a low sexy murmur as she came again, or still. Their gazes were locked as her third—or was it fourth?—orgasm triggered his so that he came with her, her name on his lips as he finally let himself go.

  It was the most erotic experience of her life.

  Chapter 16

  #HairyGoats

  For several nights, Colbie slept better than she had in . . . well, forever actually. And not just because in the deep, late, quiet hours between midnight and daybreak, Spence always came to her after he was done working, sliding into her bed, pulling her into his strong, warm arms.

  That’s when all her problems faded away, replaced by an erotic, sensual hunger and desire for him such as she’d never known.

  She always woke up alone, with a smile on her face. She had no idea why he never stayed. Maybe actually sleeping with her was one step too intimate for him. Maybe she snored.

  Maybe it was just sex.

  She told herself she didn’t care, that he was still the best, most exciting thing that’d ever happened to her.

  One morning almost two weeks into her stay, she sat all bundled up on one of the benches in front of the fountain and wrote.

  And wrote.

  She was painfully aware that the book she was writing wasn’t the next book in her Storm Fever series.

  It was something entirely different. But she loved it.

  She also knew that Jackson would have a fit. On top of wanting her out there in public supporting the movie in a very visible way, he also wanted her to do what her publisher wished and expand her series.

  Problem was, she didn’t want any of that.

  She’d closed up the series in her head and her brain just wouldn’t go there. So she let her writing take her where it wanted to go, and she was completely lost in the world when someone plopped down beside her.

  “Longest day ever,” Kylie said and slumped on the bench, tilting her head against the wrought-iron to stare up at the sky. “Today alone I messed up a table I’d been working on for four months, said no to a date with a hot customer, and ate my boss’s stash of candy bars. I think I’m going to hell.”

  “Why did you say no to the hot customer?”

  “Because he’s married.”

  “Then you’re not going to hell,” Colbie said.

  “But the candy bars —”

  “Hey, you did your boss a favor, saved him from getting fat.”

  “The top button on my jeans won’t close.” Kylie groaned and closed her eyes. “But thanks. You’re sweet. Got anything for me on the table I messed up?”

  “Nothing other than it sucks big-time.”

  “Yeah.” Kylie opened her eyes and sat up. “All this crappiness has got me starving. I need sustenance.”

  “Did I hear someone mention food?” a twenty-something woman in a white lab coat asked, stopping at their bench.

  “This is Haley,” Kylie told Colbie. “She’s an optometrist on the second floor. She’s the one responsible for Spence’s hot geeky glasses, and also for being the voice of calm reason in our group.”

  “We’re going for food,” she told Haley. “Coming?”

  “Can’t. I’ve got patients waiting. Have some wings for me, would ya?”

  “Will do.” Kylie stood and pulled Colbie off the bench, tugging her toward the pub. “Chicken wings. Life won’t be complete until I inhale a platter of Finn’s chicken wings.”

  The pub was packed and Finn was pulling out his hair. “Down a waitress,” he called to them. “I’ll get to you soon as I can.”

  Colbie watched him and Sean struggle to keep up with the crowd by themselves and stood up.

  “What are you doing?” Kylie asked.

  “I can’t watch.”

  “I can.” Kylie took in Sean bending to pick up a pallet of clean glasses, the muscles of his shoulders and back bunching beneath his T-shirt, not to mention his jeans going taut over a first-class ass.

  Colbie waved Finn down, and he came over, looking distracted.

  “Let me help you,” she said. She slid behind the bar and pulled on an apron. “I’ve waitressed before.”

  Gratitude and worry warred on his face. “Are you sure—”

  “Yep. Now go cook . . . whatever it is you’re cooking.” And she hit the tables. Delivering the drinks turned out to be easy. It was remembering to check if the food orders were ready that was a problem. Mostly this was because she found herself busy eavesdropping on conversations, fascinated by the slices of life she heard.

  “. . . And so he admitted he had an extra testicle . . .”

  “. . . Apparently, doing the boss’s boss is the only way to the top . . .”

  “. . . Remember that time we took out the wrong colon?”

  Colbie kept stopping to write down notes for herself so she wouldn’t forget anything. Problem was, she was using her order pad and stuffing the notes into her pockets and getting them mixed up with actual orders.

  “Hey,” Finn called when she dropped off two new orders in the kitchen. “What’s this?”

  “Um . . . two orders of sweet potato fries?” she asked.

  “No, it says ‘extra testicle.’ ” He looked up at her, brows raised.

  Horrified, Colbie snatched back the note and stuffed it into her pocket while pulling out her other notes to try to find the missing order. A cascade of slips fell from her pocket. “Hairy goats!”

  Finn stared at her. The entire kitchen staff stared at her.

  And then they all burst out laughing.

  “Tell me the truth,” Finn said, grinning. “You’ve never been a waitress a day in your life, have you?”

  “Hey, I was so a waitress!” She sighed. “For a while. Before I got fired . . .” She turned to get back out there and came face-to-face with Elle.

  Who stood there looking killer in an ice blue dress that outlined her very outline-able curves.

  Spence came in behind her and flashed a grin at Colbie. “Waitressing?”

  “Helping out Sean and Finn.” She grimaced. “And not doing a really great job of it.”

  “Are you kidding?” Sean asked. “You’ve been more entertaining than anything we’ve seen all season. You’re great,” he said, giving her a onearmed hug before moving out to the bar.

  “Hey,” Finn called out from behind the grill, waving another order. “Who’s doing the boss’s boss? Is that code for something actually on our menu?”

  Colbie grimaced again, snatched the paper back, and headed to the tables. She served Spence and Elle and Kylie, and afterward, when she’d cleared their dishes, Spence stood up and wrapped his fingers aroun
d her wrist. He tugged her in and gave her a goodbye kiss so hot that she nearly self-combusted on the spot, and while she was trying to remember her name, he walked off, but not before leaving her a tip.

  A huge tip.

  This gave her a flash of something she hadn’t seen coming—guilt. He’d left her so much cash because he thought she needed the money. Which reminded her that while they’d grown closer over the past two weeks, very close, she’d left out a big piece of herself by not telling him who she was.

  But the truth was she’d not intended to tell him. This had started out as a diversion, on both their parts, so it hadn’t been necessary.

  But it’d become more for her, much more, and suddenly, she wanted him to know. “Spence?”

  He turned and met her gaze.

  “Dinner tonight?” she asked.

  “Sure,” he said. “I’ll come get you at seven.”

  “No, I’ll come get you,” she said. “It’s my turn to cook.”

  His mouth curved and the smile was in his voice as well. “I’ll be ready.”

  When she was done pitching in, Finn and Sean handed her an envelope of cash.

  “Wow,” Colbie said, counting through it. “Can I come work here every day?”

  “Hell yeah,” Sean said.

  “I’m sorry but hell no,” Finn said. “You’re great to look at and my customers loved you, but please, God, don’t come back to work tomorrow.”

  Chapter 17

  #HolyMacAndCheese

  Colbie left the pub and walked across the courtyard. She had an hour to rejuvenate herself for her date with Spence, figure out how exactly to tell him about her pseudonym, and worry about if by doing so, she was about to blow the best thing that had happened to her in forever.

  After all, ruining one’s life did run in her family.

  What was it that made some people good at loving those in their lives and others self-destruct those same relationships—as her mom had with every relationship she’d ever been in? And though Colbie had always assumed she was nothing like her dad, she was starting to fear that wasn’t true at all. That in spite of herself, genes were genes.

  She was thinking how much she hated that as she walked by the alley and Old Man Eddie flagged her down with a wave.

  “What’s up, dudette?”

  “Nothing much,” she said.

  He shook his head. “No use lying to Old Man Eddie.” He tapped a finger to his temple. “I know all. And I know you’re . . . off.”

  She had to laugh. “If that’s true, then you tell me why.”

  “Simple,” he said and stared into her eyes. “You’re hiding your true self.”

  “What?” she asked, startled at the truth of that statement.

  “Yeah, you’re walking with your shoulders up to your ears and your eyes are on your feet when you walk. That tells me you’re closed off, not wanting to share yourself. You’re hiding from the world and probably yourself.”

  She blinked.

  He smiled. “So what did you think I meant? I’ve got a feeling whatever you’re hiding is better than that bullshit I just made up.”

  Ha. He hadn’t been all that far from the mark. “Nothing. I’m just . . . tired. And maybe a little stressed.” Or you know, a lot. “I’m not hiding anything. At all. Why would I? Hide anything, that is.”

  “Hmm. Say it one more time and maybe I’ll believe you.” His smile was kind as he patted the bench next to him.

  She sighed and sat. “You’re deceptively laid-back, but you’re not really laid-back at all, are you?” she asked. “You’re sharp as a knife.”

  He laughed. “Here,” he said, and held out a clear plastic bag filled with brownies. “You need one.”

  In the very worst possible way. So she took a brownie and dove in.

  “So,” he said, smiling as she inhaled it and licked her fingers. “About that thing you’re hiding . . .”

  She waggled a finger at him and eyed the baggie of brownies again.

  “Not yet,” Eddie said. “Let the first one settle another minute first. These are a rather potent batch.”

  She swallowed and stared at him as his meaning sank in. “You mean . . .”

  He smiled.

  “But . . .” She trailed off, a little horrified. She’d smoked a few times in college. She’d been a total and completely embarrassing lightweight who’d spent the rest of the day giggling and eating everything in sight.

  Old Man Eddie shrugged.

  Colbie narrowed her eyes. “Eddie, did I or did I not just eat a . . .” she lowered her voice “. . . ‘special’ brownie?”

  “It’s actually more like a space cake.”

  She just stared at him.

  “It’s cooked with cannabutter, see, which is butter that’s been heated in a pan with—”

  “Holy macaroni and cheese!” She covered her ears. “Don’t tell me.”

  “It’s okay.” He pulled a lanyard from beneath his sweatshirt, with his laminated medical marijuana card attached. “It’s legal. I’ve got a card and everything.”

  She dropped her hands. “But I don’t have a card!”

  “This is California. You won’t need one soon enough.”

  “Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath. “It’s going to be okay.” She gave herself a mental checkup. “And besides, I don’t feel weird at all.” Which, she could admit to herself, was the teeniest, tiniest bummer. She took another breath and nodded. Yep, she was fine.

  She looked at Eddie, who also looked fine. Ish.

  How had he gone from whatever life he’d led to living in the alley? she wondered. Did he have a family he’d left behind, like her dad? “I’ve got a question,” she said.

  “No worries. The only real calories come from the butter—”

  “No, a question about you,” she said.

  “Research?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But it’s personal.” She paused. “My dad’s not in the picture. By choice.”

  “Ah.” He nodded. “And you’re wondering if I have a family whose picture I’m not in.”

  “I know a lot of homeless people are homeless because they have mental illness, mostly untreated. But you seem . . .”

  His mouth quirked. “Normal?”

  “Well, not entirely,” she said and made him laugh.

  “An honest woman,” he said. “I like it. And yeah, I’ve chosen to live like this and not because of mental issues. Although I can’t claim to be entirely sane.” His smile faded. “The truth is, I wasn’t so good at being a father and husband. And when I say I wasn’t good, I really mean that I was bad.”